


Happy Birthday, Shepard

by honeybee592



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Strip Tease, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has a birthday present for Shepard. It's his body, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Shepard

James tightened his hold on Shepard, planted a kiss in her hair. He couldn’t wait to leave the bar, take her home. He still had to give her his present, after all. His stomach coiled in anticipation, small smile playing on his lips at the thought. Shepard smiled up at him, raising her eyebrows in offer of the cigar in her hand. He bent down, pulled on the cigar, letting the smoke roll around his mouth before exhaling, blowing the smoke up and out.

 “When do I get you to myself?” he murmured into her ear. She ran her hand over his waist, easing a corner of shirt out of his jeans, thumbing the hot skin beneath. James flushed at the contact, pulling her closer.

 “Soon.” She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “Damn. This shirt. It does things to me,” she whispered.

 Soon couldn’t come quickly enough. Eventually though, only three people remained at the bar, cigars stubbed out, glasses finally empty. James leaned in and kissed Dinah, holding her tight. She hummed against his lips, running her hand down his back, over his ass. Steve cleared his throat, announced loudly that it was way past his bedtime and that _some of us_ had shuttles to fly in the morning.

 The couple parted long enough to wave goodbye, Steve shaking his head and telling them to have fun.

 “Finally. You’re mine,” James growled.

 “What, you gonna go all cave man on me?” Shepard teased.

 “Uh huh.” He lifted her off the ground, ignored her shriek as he threw her over his shoulder.

 “Put me down, you brute!”

 They both knew she’d be able to kick herself free, but she let him carry her back to the skycar lot in that undignified way.

 *

“Home sweet home!” Shepard yelled, wandering in through the front door with her arms held wide.

 James toed off his shoes and socks off, kicking them into the corner. “You want another drink?” He thumbed over his shoulder at the kitchen.

 Shepard nodded and started over before James caught her. “Nah-uh. You sit down.” He held her shoulders, walking her backwards to the couch, then pushed her down. He leaned in for a kiss. Gentle, slow. When he pulled back, she blinked slowly, heat filling her gaze, a quirk on her lips. He left her on the couch to go get her whisky.

 He pulled the bottle from the cupboard, the one she kept for special occasions, popped the cork, nose wrinkling at the smell. How she drank this shit was beyond him. Kaidan, too. It tasted like a hundred thousand year old mud soaked in booze. No thanks.

 Tucking the bottle away, James wandered over, handed her the whisky then stepped back, eyeing her as she sipped on her drink.

 “You ready for your present?” He pulled up his ‘tool, turning so she couldn’t see the screen and picked the right playlist. He’d keep it simple tonight, a private show. Not crass and lewd like it’d be at a club.

 “Oh yeah? Whatcha got?” She sat up, eyebrow raised.

 “Nothin’ special,” he said over his shoulder. “You just stay there.”

 Shepard didn’t look convinced. And when the music started, her hand froze with her glass halfway to her mouth, eyes big and round like a rabbit stuck in a spotlight.

 “I’m not dancing, James. You can’t make me. It’s my birthday,” the fear evident in her voice.

 James snorted as he popped the top button of his shirt, hoping she might get the hint. “I’m not gonna make you dance, Lola.” He leaned in, placing his hands on either side of her head, dipped in for a soft kiss, an attempt to settle her. She kissed back, eagerly, her hand in his hair, on his neck. His stomach did a flip, and not just from her. He’d not done this for a long while and he was more than a little nervous. He pulled back. She let out a squeak of frustration.

 “Just sit.” He glanced at her glass. “I’m just gonna…” he eased the glass out of her hand, taking a quick gulp to settle his stomach. Blergh. Bad idea. Another kiss and he handed the glass back.

 “You look fucking hot in that shirt, you know,” she said. “The way your tattoo pokes over the collar.”

 “Oh yeah?” he said, thankful for her unknown set-up. “Think I look hotter with it on, or off?” He undid the cufflinks, set them on the table.

 She tilted her head, eyes raking up and down. “Dunno. Off, I think.”

 “Yeah? Like this?” He unbuttoned another couple of buttons and starting moving slowly to the music. He turned to hide his smirk at her single nod and visible gulp.

 “Are you gonna… for… me...?” She trailed off. He fixed her with a heated gaze and a cocky grin.

 He wanted to watch her watch him. To see her pupils blown, cheeks flushed, jaw slack. Watch as she squirmed in her seat, drink forgotten. Eyes on him and only him. He finally had her to himself, no one else around. His earlier secret teasing and touches now open and free and blatant.

 He moved to the music, liquid, graceful, knowing that she wanted him. Needed him. But he wouldn't let her have him, not yet. Not until he had teased her right to the edge, without even touching her.

 Shirt open all the way, he let her catch a glimpse of his chest, running a finger over the tattoos on his pecs, before pulling his shirt closed, hiding the skin again. She groaned and he smiled to himself. He turned, flashing his lower back, then slipped it over his tattooed shoulder, leering back at her. Yeah, he had her right where he wanted her: she sat forward on the couch, mouth hanging open.

 He grinned down at her, turning back around and finally pulling the shirt off, letting it dangle from his finger.

 “Fuck, me.” Shepard muttered, emphasising the vowels.

 “Later, Lola,” he replied, knowing it had been an exclamation, not a command. His hands settled over his belt, toying with the buckle and his fly. She groaned again.

 He continued his dance, slow, agonisingly slow. He kept his eyes on her as much as possible. Sometimes she met them, most of the time she just stared at his body, gaze following his hands as they trailed over his chest, down his abs, dipping into his trousers. He knew she'd be on fire. Shit, _he_ was on fire, could feel it right down in his fingers and toes, as well as his cock.

 She reached out for him, once, as his belt lay unbuckled, fly half way down.

 “Nuh-uh.” He stepped back out of her reach, did his fly back up, all coy.

 He loved seeing her like this, on the edge. He'd teased her before, of course, in bed, both of them naked. Hands roving. But he'd never had the chance to have her like this. And he's wanted to, ever since he’d caught her staring at the strippers in Purgatory. He wanted that attention on him. It just so happened he had a little experience in that department. She didn’t need to know how. Just needed to lean back and enjoy the show.

 He turned again, showing her his back, unzipping his fly all the way this time. He slipped his jeans down, just over the curve of his ass. Just enough to show the waistband of his briefs. His hips moved to the music as he watched her over his shoulder. Her eyes followed his sway. He dropped the jeans completely, stepping out as gracefully as he could.

 Another groan came from the couch, and when he turned to face her full, wearing only his tight, black briefs, he let out a short laugh.

 “Lola, get your hand out your pants.”

 She'd slumped back into the couch, feet planted on the floor, legs splayed, fly undone, hand buried in her underwear. Her other hand held her whisky glass on her chest, using her boobs as a shelf. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a deep breath, fingers moving under the fabric, eyes flicking down to his still covered cock, then flicking up, locking on his.

 “I need to... You have no idea...” Breathless, she trailed off, eyes wandering south as he hooked his thumb in the waistband that he edged ever so slowly down on the corner of his hip, showing hard muscle and just enough of his trim, dark hair.

 “James.” She groaned. “You’re killing me here.”

 He flashed a grin, half turning, pulling on his briefs to give her an eyeful of cheek. He turned back, serious look on his face.

 “Okay, Lola. I wanna watch you come. But not yet. Can you hold out?”

 Her eyes squeezed shut for a second, the tension visible: wrinkled brow, clenched teeth, struggling to hold it together. But her hand slowed and she nodded. James smiled with satisfaction. He was undoing her, watching her collapse in front of him, _because_ of him.

 His tease continued, but it was getting harder for him, too. He palmed himself a couple of times, just to relieve the tension coursing through him, passing it off like it was for her benefit.

 He considered how much longer he should keep her like this, before he went full monty. The bass was about to drop on the song. He’d do it then, undo her then. He hooked both thumbs in the waistband above his groin, pulling forward, looking down and giving himself an appreciative nod and humm, glancing at Shepard. Her hand moving to its own rhythm. The drop was coming in five… he turned around; four… bent over, legs straight; three… slipped his briefs down his ass; two… ran a firm finger up one cheek as he stood up straight; one… faced Shepard again, fixing her with a wicked grin… and the bass dropped. He snapped his boxers down his thighs, cock finally free, bobbing hard against his abs. Shepard groaned, biting her lip, eyes on his cock, then up to meet his. He winked and she flushed pink, looked back down. He stepped out of his briefs, sauntered a step closer, giving his cock a hard tug, and she _growled_ , low and long, hand stroking fast, back arched out from the couch as her body jerked, hips twitching, sweat breaking out on her forehead.

 A jolt went straight to his cock as he watched her orgasm. She wasn’t even naked, still fully clothed, but damn, the flush on her cheeks, the heat in her eyes, the way her brows knitted together, lips slightly parted as she stroked herself to completion. Shit, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

 She slowly relaxed, easing herself back into the couch. A final shudder went through her as she removed her hand and rested it on her thigh. Another jolt went through him at the sight of her wet fingers, knowing he’d done that to her.

 “C'mere” she mumbled.

 James eased his way up her lap, kneeling above her, cock bobbing as he shuffled forward. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes.

 “Can I touch you now? Can I touch the stripper?” she asked with a lopsided grin, hands poised just over his cock, waiting for permission.

 James took her hands in his, first sucking her wet fingers, relishing her tang. Then kissed the back of each fist, before pressing them to his thighs. She rubbed circles with her thumbs and he shivered.

 “Lemme do it, okay?” he whispered.

 She nodded, inching her hands further up his legs. He inhaled deeply and took himself in hand, letting out his breath in a low groan as he stroked his cock. The heat from her hands, the view of himself as he looked down, he wouldn’t last long, not after teasing her--and himself--so thoroughly. His free hand gripped hers, holding it in place on his leg as he pumped. He thought he heard her whisper his name, but the blood was rushing through his ears, heart pounding too hard, too loud for him to hear her.

 He growled out her name and a string of curses as he came hard, spilling over his abs.

 “Oh fuck.” He almost squeaked.

 Shepard worked her hands out from his grip and tugged his head down to hers, kissing him hard, breath hot on his mouth, before he had to pull back and rest his forehead on hers. They sat together for a moment, revelling in each other, his sweat cooling, sending shivers over his body. The music continued in the background, and he felt Shepard tapping her foot to a peculiar beat that didn’t match the song. He climbed off, slumping down next to her, reaching over to the coffee table for the tissues. As he wiped himself down, she trailed a finger down the centre of his chest.

 “You sure you weren’t a stripper before you served?” she asked, her voice husky.

 He laughed. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

 Shepard snorted.

 James leaned in, cupped her cheek. “Happy birthday, Dinah,” he murmured against her lips. She went to kiss him but he pulled back, sitting up and taking her hand. “C’mon. Round two in bed? I wanna taste where your fingers have been.”

 Her pout turned into a grin and she followed him out. James glanced back as he shut the music off and noticed her unfinished whisky left to sit on the couch arm. He smiled to himself; forgotten whiskey: job well done.


End file.
